


possibly, maybe

by captainscanuck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Author Michelle Jones, F/F, F/M, Multi, Stark Employee Peter Parker
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-14 15:32:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18479131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainscanuck/pseuds/captainscanuck
Summary: The thing is, Michelle Jones doesn’t believe in cliches. She also doesn’t subscribe to the notion that everything happens for a reason because, okay, everything is chaos.She’s not pessimistic, she’s realistic. Michelle Jones is a realist, and she will take that to the grave.





	possibly, maybe

The thing is, Michelle Jones doesn’t believe in cliches. She also doesn’t subscribe to the notion that everything happens for a reason because, okay, everything is chaos.

She’s not pessimistic, she’s _realistic._ Michelle Jones is a realist, and she will take that to the grave. And she’s happy to remind Liz of the fact as she holds her phone to her ear and nudges the door of her favourite coffee shop, The Daily Grind, (and, okay, there’s _one_ cliche, that the elusive M.J. Jones, New York Times’ bestselling author, likes to write in peace in a little coffee shop in Manhattan) open.

“I’m just saying, you should get out there more.” Michelle rolls her eyes. “Don’t roll your eyes at me.” She lets out an affronted noise. Of course Liz can tell.

“I’m not getting out _anywhere_ , Liz, we have this conversation every three weeks.”

“You know I just worry now that I’m busier and after moving in with Harry. You’re going to burn out and end up adopting a bunch of cats,” Liz says, and Michelle can hear her panting - it’s seven thirty in the morning and Michelle is only up because she’s got a deadline, but this is when Liz wraps up her morning workout because she’s _Liz_ and of course Liz Allan can juggle a nine-to-five at a law firm and manage to work out and stay hydrated while Michelle’s got an annoying zit on her jaw and eyebags so deep they’ve probably got their own bags.

(She loves Liz, though. Totally. Ride or die.)

“I’ll be fine,” Michelle huffs. The shop’s just hit a lull - Michelle waves to Cindy behind the counter, who gives her a wave in return, and sets her things down at her usual table by the window (another cliche, sue her). “I’m _always_ fine. I just need to get this draft in and then I can sleep for five days.”

“Uh-huh,” Liz replies, absolutely unconvinced. Damn Liz. “Look, Gwen’s got this friend—“ here she goes again, _Gwen’s friend_ . Gwen is Liz’s girlfriend, and she’s beautiful and successful and went to MIT while Liz was at Harvard, but is always going on about this _friend_ Michelle just _has_ to meet, “—so we really think you two would hit it off.”

“I’m a little concerned your relationship has lost its spice if you’ve resorted to talking about my relationship woes as pillow talk,” Michelle deadpans, and she can hear Liz’s soft giggle on the other end.

“Oh, Michelle. I can promise there’s been no lost _spice_.”

“Please don’t go on.”

Cindy is sliding what looks to be her latte, in a to-go cup, across the counter and Michelle mumbles a quick goodbye to Liz as she lifted herself up from the chair and moved to grab her drink only…for someone else to grab it first.

Let it be known Michelle Jones _does not believe in cliches_.

“Uh,” is all she says first, when she’s met with the confused expression of a very, very cute man. He is all slightly curly brown hair and chiseled jawlines and bright eyes behind slightly lopsided glasses and - he is the type that sixteen year old Michelle Jones would probably write about in and then burn the pages of her journal.

(Fuck.)

“Oh! Oh, god, sorry,” he laughs, holding the drink out to her, “we get the same thing, except I’m not—“ and he tilts his head sideways to read Cindy’s barely legible scrawl, “Michelle.”

“Right,” Michelle mumbles, carefully taking the latte. “Thanks for not hijacking my drink, I guess.”

“You’re welcome,” Latte Guy says cheerfully, the corners of his eyes crinkling - his eyes dart to the novel she has tucked under her arm. It’s her own, and she never makes a point of bringing her own novels places with her, but she’s almost glad she did, because Latte Guy brightens a little.

It also means a stranger might want to have a conversation with her and Michelle’s not _usually_ down for unnecessary social interaction.

“Hey! That’s my aunt’s _favourite_ book. She’s got everything by M.J. Jones. She cried through most of it, but I guess in a good way? I mean, that’s what she told me, but I don’t know, the fact that she cried is kinda sucky but she said something about it having soul-touching storytelling? Anyway, yeah, uh - cool! Good taste, I guess!”

Michelle has never been a fan of being praised. It has always left her shifting uncomfortably on the spot, even though she knows she’s strong and confident and capable. But there was something about being praised for her books that had her feeling a little strange, almost artificial.

This guy, though, and the anecdote about his aunt - _that_ was why she wrote. To express ideas, drive change - make people _feel_ things. So she couldn’t help but smile, a little bit, slightly lopsided.

“Cool,” she replies with a raised brow. “I think your drink’s getting cold.” Michelle nods toward the counter where Cindy had already placed his drink - _Peter_ , the name along the side read.

Peter. Great. Now she had a _name_.  

“Oh, shoot, yeah, I’m already like -“ Peter spares a glance at his wristwatch (which is nice, a soft brown leather and gold face, but he gives her the impression he wouldn’t wear it if it didn’t mean something, since the rest of his outfit - business casual, it looked like - didn’t warrant a vintage watch for aesthetic purposes) and his eyes widen comically. “I should have been at work like, yesterday,” he huffs out, though somehow manages to look up to flash her a grin. “Well, nice almost stealing your drink, Michelle - thanks, C!”

And with that, Peter the Latte Guy has dashed out of The Daily Grind.

Cindy was eyeing her over the top of the espresso machine. Michelle didn’t have to see the rest of her face to know she was likely sporting a shit-eating grin.

“Don’t say _anything_ ,” Michelle muttered, tossing a pointed glare at Cindy before she turned on her heel and started back to her table.


End file.
